


Tripe and Tribulations

by Pyrasaur



Category: Kitchen Nightmares RPF, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Gen, Humor, Kink Meme, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-27
Updated: 2008-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrasaur/pseuds/Pyrasaur
Summary: A chef who would rather dick around with flowers and perfume potions than make a decent meal -- wonderful.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Tripe and Tribulations

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Phoenix Wright Kink Meme prompt: _Famous TV chef Gordon Ramsay pays a visit to Tres Bien for his Kitchen Nightmares show, and verbally rips Jean Armstrong a new arsehole._

If there was one thing Ramsay did too much of, it was deliver bad news.  
  
"Look, Jean." He hitched his arms around his chest. "That meal was utter horse shit, there's not a customer in sight, this restaurant is one hundred grand in debt, and the worst part is that you don't even seem to care."  
Armstrong's lower lip trembled. Apparently, he fancied himself a spineless prat of a little girl.  
"Mais, Monsieur Ramsay," he mewled, and were those _rose petals_ he was scattering all over the damned floor, "'Zis is my passion! My raison d'être! 'Ow can you say such 'orrible things?"  
  
A chef who would rather dick around with flowers and perfume potions than make a decent meal -- wonderful. Ramsay scrubbed his face with a palm.  
"Not nearly as horrible as the state of your kitchen. Forget the fucking health inspector, I should report you for cruelty to animals, didn't you _see_ the fur growing on that foie gras?"  
Tipping his head, picking at the rose's few remaining petals, Armstrong wondered, "Ah, oui ... I was going to buy more, certainement, but I was 'ard at work on my newest creation! C'est finis!"  
"And what is that?" Ramsay likely didn't want to know.  
Armstrong brightened, like a Christmas tree full of dim bulbs.   
"Ze oil of lilac et bergamot, Monsieur!" He fished about in his pocket, and proffered a little glass vial and dear god, he was batting his eyelashes. "Ze scent is trés cleansing. Comme une 'ot, steamy shower, oooh!"  
" _Fuck_ me," Ramsay muttered, burying his poor eyes in his palm.   
The lash-batting was nothing compared to the _giggle_.  
  
Ramsay turned, and stormed across the kitchen, hoping that Armstrong had enough sense in his airy little brain to nance along behind.  
"This restaurant needs some life in it and I _don't_ mean those frilly tarts you call waitresses. We're going to take down that bloody stupid lace, scrub the place down, and see if we can get you to grow a pair of bollocks, is that clear?"  
"Monsieur," Armstrong gasped, "You must not say zees brazen things, je suis une delicate fille!"  
  
Only six days left, and they couldn't end fast enough.


End file.
